Pastor Whiskey
by RomulusCraft
Summary: Set in the Fistful of Frags Universe, Lorne "Vigilante" Jones and his band of goons uncover a mysterious artifact, which gives those who come in contact with it superhuman powers. A mysterious man has stolen it, and it is their duty to find him and retrieve what is rightfully theirs. Or so they think... [Minor swears, and violence] Written by myself and my friend: Jade Wombat.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Bandito Mcgee stared wistfully out of his hotel window. A man in a light brown trench coat entered his face obscured by his bright red bandana.

"Mr. Mcgee," The mysterious man said rather forcefully, ending the solemn silence between the two men.

"it's about time you payed up." The enigmatic man held a short rifle, a mares leg one of the fastest weapons in the west. Bandito Mcgee sighed and slowly got out of his chair. He pulled a mahogany chest out from under the bed, slowly turning the rusted key in its lock. He opened it and pulled out a bottle. It glowed oddly in the dim lighting of the dingy hotel. The strange man slowly smiled behind his bandana, a wild look appearing in his eyes.

"Pass the whiskey." Came a gruff stammer from the bandana toting man. He grabbed the bottle, hands shaky and nervous, carelessly tossing his gun to one side. He twisted the cap open slowly. Bandito Mcgee sighed once more as he pulled out his trusty hatchet.

"Now desperado," Mcgee murmured in a threatening tone.

"Every gift comes with a price." There was a flash of silvery light as Bandito Mcgee brought his Hatchet down right in between the unsuspecting Desperado's eyes. Blood spurted wildly from his cranium. He managed to choke out one last sentence.

"C-cover my ass." and with a sickening thump he fell to the floor. The whiskey rolled to one side, iridescent as ever. Bandito Mcgee gingerly picked up the fragile bottle and placed it back into the velvet case. He closed the chest, turning the key in the lock once more, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead. He stood and opened the closet door. Bodies were piled up: Rangers, Desperados, Vigilantes were all crammed into the storage space. He looked to the chest again. _So many people have come for this precious artifact, _He thought. _So many people have paid the price._ Bandito Mcgee grunted as he labouriously pulled the body into the packed closet. He closed the door and once again stared longingly out the window.

"Soon it'll all be over." He whispered. "Soon."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: If Bottles of Whiskey Were Broken Dreams

"COVER THAT DAMN DOOR!" Our "hero" Lorne 'Vigilante' Jones cried with gusto. "I'm not goin' to jail again!" Two of his goons proceeded to barricade the door with many park benches.

"Boss," one of Lorne's henchmen donning a particularly dapper suit began, "Why do we always use damn benches? Those things are fragile as a newborn calf."

"Because it's the META, Ranger." Shouted his sibling, Gerald. "Them Sheriffs'll be so confused they break down and cry."

"Quit shootin' your mouth off." Jones commanded. "Someone help me with this vault!" Ranger and Gerald came to his aid. "Hand me a stick of dynamite."

"But, Lorne, that'll destroy the goods inside!" Gerry whined. "That'll make this all for nothing!"

"Stop your whimperin'. Hand me some of that Black Dynamite." Jones demanded impatiently. Gerald fished around his "bag-o-tricks," he liked to call it, and grasped his precision explosive. He pulled out some twine and secured the stick to one of the vault's handles. He yanked Ranger's cigar from his mouth and lit the fuse. Gerald stood back up and corralled his men 10 feet to the side. As the fuse neared the black powder Lorne yelled, "LET'S GET US SOME GOLD!"

The explosion was ear shatteringly loud. The Fragger's were peppered with steel dust and the roof nearly fell apart. He rounded everyone up, checked for major lacerations, and sauntered into the bank vault. As the air cleared and light entered the room, gold bullion gleaming in the back of the over-sized safe caught the eyes of the gang.

"Boys," Mr. Jones said, "We're rich." The long time friends could hardly conceal their glee. Gerald was the first to run and fill his burlap sack. The rest quickly followed. Lorne gave himself a shower with silver medallions. After the majority of the loot was secured, Ranger did a final check for valuables. While wading through bronze coins, he tripped over something. After he regained his balance, he dusted away the coins and uncovered a small wooden case.

"Hey guys!" Ranger called, "Take a look-see at this!" As his friends assembled, he untied a copper key, attached to the side of the box and fit it into the lock. As the lid was lifted, a dull light hit the eyes of the bank robbers. The item within the case was a luminous whiskey bottle. "Wh-what could it be?"

"A drink dim-wit." Desmond Desperado said matter-of-factly. "Pass the whiskey." As if something snapped in his mind, Ranger suddenly became very violent. He belted Desmond with his right hand as hard as he could. Lorne quickly intervened, trying desperately to keep his friend alive. Gerald took his gun by the handle and hit Ranger on his forehead. The force knocked the power-drunk man on his back.

"WHAT THE HELL'S GOTTEN INTO YOU?" Jones hollered at Ranger. The front door bursted open. The building was soon swarmed by the county sheriffs. Ranger's eyes were wild. Dilated to the point where you couldn't see the color. Desmond Slowly rose to his feet, to once more get down to stay out of the cops' line of sight. Gerald pulled out his Schofield revolver.

"You guys handle the boys in blue. I'll tend to Ranger." Reassured Gerald. Lorne reluctantly took out his trusty Colt Navy and started returning fire. Desmond had worked his way along the wall and took out his Derringers. With a well placed shot, they began to advance closer to the alternate exit. Gerald was trying his hardest to calm and restrain Ranger, but with one swing of the arm, he was free. He barreled past Lorne and Desmond and slammed a cop into the wall, instantly incapacitating him. Another raised his gun but was kicked in the face. He was grabbed by the leg and spun around, knocking back several other law enforcers. Lorne gave a slight grin and called to Gerald.

"We're gettin' the hell outta here! Grab what you can!" Gerry shakily stood up. He scanned the room and found the four bags of loot. He gathered them up and threw them across his back. He was about to call ready to the rest, when he felt a tugging in his stomach. He turned around and saw the whiskey. He dropped the bags to the ground and hobbled toward it. He sank to his knees, picked it up and returned it to the case. He locked it and threw the strange item in a bag.

"R-ready!" Gerald cried to his accomplices, not quite knowing what he'd done.

"'Bout damn time! Reinforcments're on their way. We gotta split! NOW!" Desmond scolded. He handed the group their respective sack, and guided Ranger out the back, his superhuman strength dissipating. He was completely pale now and he seemed to be more frail than ever.

"The 4:40 train'll be rolling through here in a couple minutes." Lorne informed. "We just gotta hold out till then." Just then thundering was heard. Hooves on dirt. The sheriff's reinforcements.

"How'd they get here so fast? The next town is 10 miles west!" Cried Gerald.

"I don't know, but I'm not goin' down without a fight." Lorne muttered. He looked down the barrel of his ol' navy and the pointed it in the direction of the sheriff. The sheriff had one of those southern beards on his chin and he road with more conviction than a stubborn bull. He seemed to notice Lorne's gun aimed at him and drew his own. Time seemed to stand still. It was a tough shot for either gunman, a shot at a moving a target and a shot while moving at a target. Lorne held his breath and steadied his hand. _Come on old blue_he muttered almost inaudibly. _Don't fail me now._ A loud crack rang through the streets as a bullet whizzed out of the barrel of the revolver. The sheriff's horse suddenly stopped as the sheriff slumped over and hit the ground. The deputy of the town stopped in his tracks along with the rest of the goons. Gerald looked at his brother.

"One hell of a shot" He stated in an uneasy tone. The sound of steam and churning wheels filled the silence of the desert town. Desmond and Ranger still looked speechless.

"Well, what are you two gawking at, haul ass onta' that train!" Lorne exclaimed, sprinting towards the tracks. The sheriff's men seemed to have been provoked out of their shock and began to continue riding towards the Fraggers. The train pulled up and Lorne signaled for the others to jump in. He hesitated before jumping in after them. There was something odd about the tunnel ahead, a figure stood at the top of the entrance. Lorne shook his head and got on the slowly accelerating train. Desmond and Gerald were firing shots at the coppers chasing them. Lorne peaked out of the car and spotted the dejected policemen slow down. He felt his racing heart slow down a bit and examined his surroundings. It had grown dark since they entered the tunnel, only a dim lantern to illuminate their surroundings. Ranger laid on the floor exhausted, Gerald was reloading his gun and Desmond was rummaging through the loot. The box with the whiskey had been set aside the rest of the loot in the middle of the car. Ranger was staring at it with a mix of desire and disgust.

"Well boss, what's our next move?" Ranger eked out, obvious strain in his voice. Lorne looked down thoughtfully.

"I got some horses down by the mesa. We'll jump this train near the river, head there, and ride back to base." Lorne paused before adding.

"You think you can walk?" Lorne inquired. Ranger waved his hand dismissively.

"I'll be fine, just need to rest is all." There was a light thunk on the top of the train. Gerald looked up, unsettled.

"It's nothing Gerry, don't worry." Lorne reassured his Gerald. Gerald nodded lightly. There was a sound of ripping metal and another thunk. Another couple seconds of silence. Lorne cocked his gun. An earsplitting noise ripped through the car as everything shook around the Fraggers.

"GET DOWN DAMMIT!" Lorne Yelled pulling Ranger and Gerald down. There was another explosion and the car shook even more violently flipping on to its side. Sparks flew into Lorne's hair as he tried to protect Ranger from the brunt of the force. Lorne squinted his eyes shut. They continued to be thrust forward, the car and the tracks screeching in terror as the friction increased. Slowly the train slowed down and as it screeched to a halt it reached the egress of the tunnel.

"Is everyone ok?" Lorne asked in a shout, voice cracking.

"The loot." Gerald said crestfallen. Lorne looked around and saw nothing but a few scattered coins and the chest with the whiskey. Ranger spoke up in a gravelly voice.

"Must've fell off in the commotion." Lorne looked down in anxious thought.

"Come on lets get moving and see what started this destruction." Gerald helped Ranger up and followed Lorne out of the train. Desmond paused blatantly staring at the chest. Lorne looked at the tunnel hopefully, but saw nothing but rubble. A complete cave in.

"Whoever did this knew their way around explosives." Gerald said meekly. Lorne shook his head.

"Come on Des we gotta get moving." Lorne instructed. Desmond was clenching the chest, squinting at Lorne and looking around desperately. He pulled out his deringer and fired a pot shot at Lorne and bolted in the opposite direction.

"Damnit what the hell?!" Lorne exclaimed. Gerald began to race after him but was grabbed by Lorne. Lorne pointed silently to a mounted figure throwing aside a lighter in the distance. The figure pulled out a gun. He was quite a ways away and to a different onlooker the gun's identity would be completely obscured, but Lorne knew this gun. It had a greenish tint and an ornate lacquered hilt. It was the most powerful and utterly deadly revolver in the west: the Colt Walker. The shooter was a good half a mile away from Des but he held up his gun towards him anyways. A crack louder than any gunshot the Fraggers had ever heard burst through the air and a bullet instantly left the Walker and made its way through Desmond's head. There was a staggered silence among the Fraggers. Gerald wordlessly pulled up his Schofield and cocked it but Lorne grabbed him and Ranger and pulled them behind a rock. The distant figure rode up to the chest and slung it onto his horse. He rode off into the east. Lorne, Gerald and Ranger were in a daze for the next few minutes but began to dust off their sandy jeans and head to the mesa. In stunned silence Gerald and Lorne helped Ranger trek across the desert. They trotted in stunned silence until the mesa appeared over the horizon.

"What the hell just happened." Gerald exclaimed in an exhausted voice. Lorne opened his mouth to answer but just shook his head.

"I've never thought Desmond would do somethin' like that. He just straight up un' stabbed us in the back." Ranger said under a emergent breath.

"Got what was coming I guess. That was one hell of a run." Gerald said still not quite believing the events that had just came to pass. Lorne still just looked down speechless.

"At least we managed to nab some cash, Eh' Lorne?" Gerald said nudging Jones.

"Do you know how hard it is to hit someone with a revolver from that distance?" Lorne said urgently. Gerald didn't know how to respond.

"What?" Lorne made a chopping motion with his hands.

"That was a walker. He hit a guy a half mile away with an extremely inaccurate gun. He managed to derail the train by himself. It takes quite a bit more dynamite than we were packing to accomplish that." Lorne was beginning to yell now.

"What would make him attack us for that chest? How did he know we were making this run, and why would he only want to nab the chest?" Gerald looked at Lorne like he was crazy and Ranger just shook his head. They were getting close to the mesa now.

"We can talk about this and our next move at base boss." Ranger said, fatigued.

"I just want to get a damn drink of water before we get started with these crazy arguments and theories."


End file.
